Today is my mom’s birthday. I’ve pretty much hit the jackpot in the mom department, as much as I’ve stunk it up in the dad department. My mom is my best friend, my biggest fan, and someone I spend 90% of my time with. She’s an amazing woman so I thought I would share some memories I have of her.

Remembering…

…the time when she walked into Sports Fan Attic during the holiday season to buy my brother a Michael Vick jersey. The only ones she saw were for the Atlanta Falcons but she knew my brother’s favorite team was the San Fransisco 49ers. Confused, she asked a worker if “there was a Michael Vick who played for the 49ers.” My brother and I still have not let my mom live this one down, and we constantly tease her about it.

…the time when the three of us were playing “Are You Smarter Than a Fifth-Grader?” and she was asked the question: “What has a lot of sand, but very little water.” Her answer: a sand box. (You can tell she taught preschool for a bajillion years! Also, she’s going to kill me for this getting out. Hehe.)

…the time when the three of us were walking back to our apartment during the holiday season and saw a bunch of kids acting crazy with shopping carts. We were all annoyed, only to laugh hysterically when my mom burst out with: “I hope they spend Christmas in jail!” This is her best one-liner yet.

…the time when the three of us had just moved into a condo, months after she left my dad. She was stressed over the move and dealing with a lot of other issues and my brother could be a bit of a pain. We were sitting down, eating dinner, and I’m not sure what was happening at the time, but I do remember my mom telling my brother, very calmly and patiently, “Mark, get in your room before I say something I regret.” Not 5 seconds later, she bursts out, “Mark, get your ass in your room.” (My mom does not curse and still gasps when something pops out of my mouth, which makes this all the more funny.)

…the time when she made the hardest decision of her life: leaving my father. To this day, it’s the best decision she ever made. She has done so much in her life since divorcing him, while my dad has continued down a downward spiral.

…the time when she received a hand-me-down, but beautiful, bedroom set which included a queen size bed with headboard and two nightstands. Not even thinking of herself, that she had been sleeping on a lumpy, daybed and could definitely use (and deserved!) a new bed, she gave it to me. She kept it as a surprise until I came home on Christmas break from college and I was shocked beyond belief. And she is still sleeping on that lumpy daybed.

…the time when she completely changed her life, and managed to lose 80 pounds doing so. She sometimes gets down on herself because she still falls back on old habits and it’s not any easier now than it was 3 years ago, but she’s managed to keep most of it off, save 10 or so pounds. She’s such a different person than she was in 2006 and an inspiration to so many people. (She’s also the unofficial Weight Watchers expert at work. I told her she needed to start having meetings & charging her co-workers!)

…the time when she decided to change careers. She was burned out from teaching preschool and needed a change. So she took action over her life and did it. She didn’t whine about how she hated her job and wanted something new. She did it. While I still think the preschool world lost an angel when she quit, she’s doing something she enjoys and is good at.

…the time when I made the decision to change majors, even though I was 75% with my schooling to become an elementary school teacher. When I made the decision, I was scared about what my mom would say. I knew she would support me, but I also knew I was asking a lot out of her. And when I told her, I received nothing but love and support. She has never made me question my choice of switching majors, but has shown me it was the best decision for me.

…the time(s) that she has pushed me, over and over again, to show me that I can do it. She has given me all the love she has in her heart, all the support she has, and all the dedication. Never once have I doubted she loves me. Never once have I doubted she would support me. Never once have I been afraid to talk to her about problems.

Happy birthday, Mom! You are amazing and epitomize what a mother should be.

My post last week prompted a few commenter’s to tell me to stop being so hard on myself and give myself some credit. And while I think it’s natural to be harder on yourself than you are on other people, I also want to take a moment and think back on where I’ve been and how much I’ve accomplished in spite of my circumstances.

You see, my life has never been an easy one. I grew up in what many would think was a normal home. My parents were married. I had an older brother. We lived in an apartment where I got dirty daily, playing outside with friends from the neighborhood. My mom was a preschool teacher. My dad worked nights at a paper company. I attended public school, had sleepovers with girlfriends, and bickered with my brother over the smallest issues. My dad woke us up in the morning, every single morning, with “It’s that time of the day again!” We would grumble, high-tail to the kitchen, eat cereal with our eyes glued to the back of the cereal box, and then get ready for school. My dad would walk us to the bus stop and be there when it returned to walk us back home. I always had a group of friends at school, never the popular girls but girls who totally understood me, even if it was only for the second grade. The next year, I’d have a brand-new set of friends. We had family dinners, Little Debbies snacks for dessert, and those joyous occasions of going out to eat. (My favorite being Pizza Hut.) My brother was into Power Rangers and action figures. I was into Barbies and baby dolls.

But things weren’t perfect. We had a secret. It was a secret that was tearing apart my parents’ marriage and causing my brother and I to always have that feeling of fear in the pit of our bellies. The secret started with my dad and Derby Lane. My dad was a gambler. (And not a very good one.) He would use his entire paycheck to go to the dog track, waste all his money, and end up with maybe ten bucks to his name. Once he had blown all his money, he would go to my mom and force her to give her money. I was all of six when I saw him pull a knife to her throat. I was maybe seven when I came home from church with my mom and brother to see my dad had punched a hole in the wall in anger. I cannot even tell you how many nights I sat in the farthest corner of my room, or sometimes under my bed, with a pillow over my ears to drown out the sounds of my parents fighting. The sounds of my dad threatening my mom. The sounds of him hitting her. The sounds of her fighting back. I was scared to death for my mom, because my dad not only had a gambling addiction, he also had an anger problem. He wasted no time turning his anger on me or my brother. I will say that he never lifted a hand to us, but the emotional beatings we received sometimes felt worse when you’re eight years old. We were evicted from apartments when my dad failed to pay the rent. We struggled financially, even though that should never have been the case, because we were surviving on my mom’s piddly day care teacher’s pay.

When I was eleven years old, my mom sat me down one night and told me that she was leaving my father and we were going to move in with my grandparents for the time being. The elation and exuberance I felt from this announcement was unmatched. I was never one who thought my parents should stay together or stick it out. She tried. Man, did she try. She wasted thirteen years with him before enough was enough. We moved into my grandma’s house. We lived in their office and it was cramped surroundings before my mom found a condo a few weeks before I started sixth grade.

From then on, it was hard. It was just as hard when my parents were together. My brother still thought my dad was the best thing since sliced bread and didn’t enjoy rooming with two females. He had a bit of an attitude problem, taunted my mother with curse-filled rock and rap music, and fought with me more than ever. My mom slipped into depression as she envisioned life as a single parent to two teenagers and trying to support us on barely anything. I suffered with horrible insomnia in sixth grade, the same year my mom was suffering from depression, which meant I didn’t have her to lean on. It pains me to say that because she has been a rock star mama for most of my life but that was one year where she just wasn’t there for me.

My first three months of eighth grade, my dad was sent to jail for stealing money from his mom. To gamble. It wasn’t the first time he’s done that, but it’s the first time his mom finally pressed charges. My last two years of high school, my dad was sent to prison for grand theft auto, attempted battery, and stealing money from his brother. I didn’t speak to him for the first of those two years until he sent me a letter, which seemed to make everything better.

My life wasn’t perfect. I’m probably the poster child for daddy issues. But yet, somehow, I’ve managed to come out of it all on top. Sure, I have some major trust issues and I think it’s going to take a very special man to break through the walls of my heart, but things could be a lot worse. There are two people I know of who are dealing with some tough times and are doing things that I could totally have imagined myself doing to make the pain feel better.

How is it possible that my brother is in a loving, committed relationship with his girlfriend of almost 8 years? How is it possible that he’s never touched a cigarette or a drug? How is it possible that the first drink he had was on his 21st birthday, and he’s had maybe 2 or 3 since then? How is it possible that he is an amazing, amazing father to his son? How is it possible that he’s held down a job since he was 15? How is it possible that he’s so responsible with his money that he has a brand-new truck and has never missed a payment? He was 16 when he started buying his own clothes and paying cable for our house. He bought his own TV with his own money. He bought his own car with his own money. He didn’t have any sort of father figure in his life to teach him the right way to do things. He’s been shown the wrong way. By all intents and purposes, he should be a gambler, beating on Jenny, and a distant father. But he’s not. He’s so far from those things that it makes me laugh. He’s the biggest male role model in my life and I always think to myself, if only I could find a man who is half as good as him, I’ll be happy.

Then there’s me. At 22, I’m still a virgin and looking to remain so until my wedding night. It shouldn’t be this way. Shouldn’t I be looking for other guys to satisfy this craving for a father figure? That’s the way it works, right? At 22, I’ve never been drunk one night in my life. Not that there’s necessarily anything wrong with that, as long as you do it responsibly, but there were many chances in high school to wind up on the wrong side of the tracks. At 22, I’ve never had a cigarette touch my lips or a drug touch my fingers. I’ve been asked, propositioned, but in the end, it’s always a big, fat no. At 22, I’m still in college and will keep fighting until I graduate. And I’m going to make something of my life. Something big. Something amazing. Something wonderful.

I’m living proof that you can come from pretty awful circumstances and make something better of your life. You can’t control circumstances and bad things happening sometimes, but you can always control your reaction to it. You can always stand up for what’s right. My brother and I have come a long way. Our past is something we’ll never forget but it’s the present and future that our eyes are fully aware of. It helps that we have a mother who loves us with every fiber of her being. Who would give up anything to make us happy. Who has supported us every step of the way.

We’ve turned into two people who take responsibility for their actions. We’ve never even thought to use our past or lack of a father figure to make excuses to do bad things. My past is a huge part of me. Would I have enjoyed an easier life, with two parents who loved each other and me? A father who held down a full-time job, went to all my sporting events, and supported me the way a father should? Heck yes! I’m not going to sit here and say that I don’t long for that kind of past. But that’s not the past I was given. The past I was given has given me trust issues and heartbreak. It has given me strength, passion, and purpose. It has formed me into the woman I am today. A woman who knows what she believes in and stands up for what’s right. A woman who can’t wear her heart on her sleeve for fear of what people will think. A woman who has risen above her circumstances and is ready to make something amazing of her life.

First of all, thanks so much for all the kind tweets, texts, DM’s, messages, and e-mails about Wednesday’s post. It still isn’t over, as I received an e-mail from him yesterday. Blog post to come on that.

If you had told me four years ago that my mom would be training for a marathon, I would have laughed in your face. My mom? The woman who can barely walk up two flights of stairs? Who considers walking to Wendy’s (right next door to her work) as exercise? That obese woman? Nope. No way.

Because this used to be my mom:

Please don’t judge my brother and I on our jerseys.

And now? She’s a completely different person.

She’s lost 80 pounds (and kept it off for almost 2 years). She has completely transformed her life. She’s a completely different person. She loves to exercise. She gets home from a run filled with endorphins and happiness. Her healthy eating habits are absolutely astounding. She took on this healthy challenge with no abandon.

She began her journey in October 2006. I was away at college and called her from my night class. (I was in a terribly place at that time and called her 3-4 times a day, just to calm myself down.) She didn’t answer when I called her. When I called her after my class, she told me she had been in a Weight Watcher meeting. My response? “No, you haven’t. Really. Where were you?” But, yep, that’s where she was. Earlier that month, she had received word from her doctor that he wanted to go over some test results. She got scared, thinking she was pre-diabetic. Luckily, she wasn’t but it was the fire in her belly that made her start taking her health seriously.

It was amazing to see her transformation. It’s been inspirational.

It’s been four years. Two years of losing weight, two years of maintaining her weight. Yes, she has weeks where she goes off the deep end. She has days where she just wants to stop counting and stop having to be so in control of everything she eats. But, for the most part, she’s done awesome. She’s a healthy person, leading an active life.

She began running in 2006. We’ve done 4 Turkey Trots together. In 2006, we walked the 5K. In 2007, we ran the 5K. In 2008, she ran the 5K and I walked the 5K. In 2009, she ran the 10K and I walked/ran it. A month later, she ran her first half-marathon, with a time of 2:43. In April, she ran a 15K. She’s a full-fledged runner now. And she absolutely loves it.

And now she has a new goal. On January 9, 2011, she’s going to run the Walt Disney World Marathon.

A marathon? Yes, I think she’s nuts. Yes, I don’t doubt she can do it. Yes, I will be there every step of the way. If anyone can do it, she can.

So here’s where you come in, dear bloggers and friends. Runners and non-runners alike, do you have any advice for her? Advice on training. (She’s following a plan, but other advice would be welcome!) Advice on running gear. Advice on what to do before and after a long run? Anything and everything, please!

If you don’t have any advice, just tell her how awesome she is. Because she kinda is.

Last week, my grandma started her first of 12 rounds of chemotherapy. After surviving 2008 and beating Stage IV colon cancer, her cancer came back in 2010. A small amount of cancer was found in her lung and she would have to endure chemo once again.

I remember what my grandma was like in 2008, especially towards the end of her fight. She morphed from my plump, squeezable grandmother to a frail, small woman who I was scared to hug too hard for fear I would break her. I remember the fear we all felt and the fear my grandma tried so well to keep hidden.

But then she beat the cancer and spent 2009 recuperating. She was healthy enough to go out to lunch with the family on Mother’s Day, cook Thanksgiving dinner, and return to her normal self. She was feeling great, getting plenty of exercise, and baby-sitting her great-grandson a few days a week. Her energy level was high. She was back to being my grandma again.

And now I’m scared. I don’t want her to return to that frail woman again. I don’t want her to have to deal with the side effects of chemotherapy, the constant beeping of her pump during the nights she has poison racing through her body, the inability to drink anything but room-temperature water, the disappointment when her blood count is to low to go through chemotherapy for that week, the exhaustion so bad that turning over in bed seems like a chore.

I don’t understand why she, out of everyone in my life, has to deal with this. Why does my grandma have to go through this pain? She’s faithful. She’s giving. She’s sweet. She’s everything I could ever ask for in a grandma, and in a woman. She doesn’t deserve this. My grandma and grandpa are dealing with enough on their own. They have to deal with her cancer, too?

I have anger. I’m not directing it towards God because that’s misplaced anger. If anything, God is the one we all need to lean on during this time. I guess I’m just angry at the situation. I don’t think it’s fair that she’s the one who has cancer again. Life isn’t fair and I know this. But I’m still upset about it.

It’s been said that God doesn’t give you more than you can handle. So I guess this is why my grandma has to deal with this again. She can handle it. She has the strongest faith of anyone I know. And she has an incredible husband by her side, someone who loves her so deeply. Out of everyone in our family, they are the two who could handle this the most.

So it’s not fair. And I am angry that my grandma has to deal with chemotherapy again. I wish she was still healthy and was still baby-sitting my nephew. But she’s not. She does have to deal with this. And our entire family will be by her side to support her and pray for her. She will endure this season and emerge victorious. She did it before, she’ll do it again.

A few weeks ago, I was sitting in a study lounge area, trying to cram for a test before class and eavesdropping on a conversation between friends. Some things they were talking about caught my eyes.

Such as…“My mom told me last week that she’s disappointed with me. I have no idea why!”

And…“I told my mom I wanted an iPod Touch for my birthday. Then she told me she’s getting me something better than an iPod Touch but what’s better than an iPod Touch? My car, my phone, and my laptop are all new so it can’t be either of them.”

The first comment struck me as extremely sad because let’s face it: I have the best mom on the planet. She has supported me in every area of my life. She’s giving, loving, and humble. I had a tough time telling her about my decision to change my major from elementary education to journalism but she has supported me every step of the way. When the financial aid office told me I had taken too many classes and would deny me any more aid? Well, she put her “Mama Bear – Don’t Mess With My Child” gameface on and called up everyone but the governor to find out why I wasn’t getting aid and how I could get aid.

And when we realized that I wouldn’t get any aid, she took a deep breath and told me I would still go to school and get a journalism degree. We would work it out. There is nobody in my life who supports or believes in me as much as my mom does.

My mom was a single mom for most of my childhood. She didn’t divorce my dad until I was in 5th grade but my dad was too busy spending his money on gambling and drugs and alcohol to ever support us. My mom was the one to put the work into being a mother – and a father. And she did a damn good job.

But we struggled a lot. I learned at a young age the value of money. I worried at a young age, whether or not we would be evicted from our next apartment. I worried if we would have dinner that night or presents under the Christmas tree. I almost never asked my parents if I could join Girl’s Scouts or baton twirling or cheerleading. Those things cost money. (Although, to be honest, I did do cheerleading once in 4th grade and again in 10th grade. Thanks, Mom!)

I didn’t get a car for my 16th birthday. I didn’t get a cell phone until I was 17. I relied on financial aid, scholarships, and loans to get me through college. I didn’t even own an iPod until I bought one for myself when I was 19. (And I never got a Barbie Jeep! The injustice!)

But, you know, at the end of the day? Those things don’t matter all that much to me. It would be nice to have my own car and have tons of money. But I wouldn’t learn important values like love, support, responsibility, and commitment. I could choose my mom, someone who can’t buy me everything my heart desires but desperately wants to. Or I could choose to have another mom, who could buy me everything but wouldn’t give me the love and support I crave.

My mom is my best friend. And when I say that, I truly mean it. We do everything together. I have the best times with her and we have so many inside jokes. We have the same morals, values, and sense of humor. We like the same TV shows. We even dress alike. And maybe she won’t be buying me a brand-new car for my birthday but I would take spending the day with her, creating more memories and laughter, over a thing.

Honestly, she is the best mom anyone could ever ask for. She raised me up right and managed to create two amazing people, who had all the odds stacked against them. A broken home, money issues, and a father who was in prison for a lot of our teenage years. And the fact that we never turned to drugs, became party animals, or promiscuous? It’s all due to my mom.

My grandma is the quintessential grandmother. She is loving, sweet, and my #1 fan. She always takes my sides in debates between me and my mother. She’s an amazing woman of God and I just wish I had half her faith. She raised 6 kids and is currently raising her 14-year-old twin granddaughters, which is something I do not envy her on. My grandma is an amazing lady and I have so many sweet memories with her.

I remember marshmallow fluff and peanut butter on crackers. I remember late night chats, sipping hot chocolate for me and hot tea for her. I remember having special Sundays with my grandparents when I would get to spend the hours between morning and night church with them and only them. I remember playing grocery store, where she would get out Pops’ printing calculator. We would label prices for all the food and then go to town buying from the “store.” I remember seeing her beaming face at all of my graduations and big events. I remember laughter, tears, inspiration, love. I remember support, gentleness, sweetness, and heart.

I remember finding out on Tuesday, May 6th at work that my grandma was in the hospital, scheduled to have surgery to have her appendix removed. I remember finding out later in the day that, after a bevy of tests, the doctors had realized it wasn’t her appendix but a tumor growing in her colon. I remember sitting in the waiting room during her surgery the next day. I remember finding out that the tumor had been removed but it was malignant. I remember being in the room when my mom told her she had cancer. I remember the peace I felt, knowing cancer could not keep my grandma down. I remember seeing my grandma lose pound after pound, transforming her from my plump and soft grandma to a frail woman I barely recognized. I remember loving how her spirit never changed – she relentlessly pursued after God. I remember the utter relief I felt when a PET scan revealed no cancer in her body on October 14. I remember being the one to serve my grandma, instead her serving me (like she had every holiday before), on Christmas Day, just one day after she finished her last round of chemotherapy.

I remember seeing my grandma transform, slowly, back into the woman I used to know. I remember the first time she went out to a restaurant since starting her treatment. I remember her strength coming back and her faith stronger than ever.

—

My grandma had a PET scan in March, which came back clean. She just had another PET scan, one year after her first one, last Thursday. This whole week, I have prayed and prayed for good results. And they were! My grandma, my amazing, beautiful, inspiring grandmother, has been cancer-free for one entire year. I can’t tell you how awesome and wonderful this news is!

It’s amazing that my grandma, in her late 60’s, managed to beat Stage IV colon cancer! I’m sure it felt like a death sentence for her, but I had this all-encompassing peace that my grandma would beat cancer. She is such an integral part of our family that I just couldn’t imagine God taking her away from us. She’s way too important to us. She’s way too important to me.

Meet Stephany

Hi, I'm Stephany! I'm a 30-year-old single lady, living in Florida. I love taking cruises, reading, writing, and spending time with family and friends. I am an introvert and a Highly Sensitive Person, and I'm quite proud and pleased with the quiet life I lead. On this blog, you will find stories about my life, book reviews, travel experiences, and more. Welcome!

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